I signed up for a half-marathon today. I’d always planned on sticking to the 10k’s until my times plateaued but recently had a change of heart. If I’m going to run a marathon sometime in my life, I may as well do it while I’m not too old and get a decent time without killing myself. So a half-marathon (13.1 miles, approx 21k) will be my investigative foray into long-distance runs. I’ve only run longer than 10k (6.2 miles) twice in my life… and that was only 8 miles.
Plus this one is the inaugural one and it has an awesome route through Little 5, Virgina-Highland, Piedmont Park, right past my old Midtown apartment I shared with Keith and his Impala, and then down Peachtree to Downtown.
Pricey though… but hey, that’ll keep me honest.
Thursday, December 28, 2006
Smells Like J. Crew
Kerry and I were at the mall last night before seeing “Casino Royale” which turned out to be a great James Bond flick by the way. She stopped in this place with all these scented candles and oils that you warm up all billed as “home fragrance”. To me this is just like the whole teeth whitening thing where a perceived need is created out of thin (and allegedly smelly) air. Just like I can understand a smoker wanting his or her teeth whitened up a bit, a shot of Glade or some potpourri in a bathroom or maybe near a catbox makes sense. But now, at the dentist’s, I’m surround by teeth bleaching pamphlets and what are those stupid whitening strips? People walk around with those things in their mouths? “Oh my gosh, my teeth aren’t white enough! Suzy’s smile is so dazzling! I need to do something about my disgusting teeth!”
So now there are people walking around with teeth that are snow white AND HUMAN TEETH ARE NOT THAT WHITE!
And now… “Oooh, Candi’s home smells like Pumpkin Vanilla Melonberry. If I don’t get this Jasmine Butterscotch scented oil heater, my home will smell like a… like a…”
Like a HOME, you moron!
Sunday, December 24, 2006
Holly Jolly
Ok, now I must vent.
I’ve been in the continual presence of Christmas songs on the radio now since Thanksgiving. I like a lot of them… almost all of which are from the 50’s (“Baby, It’s Cold Outside”, “Santa Baby”, “White Christmas”, etc.) or Christmas shows I grew up with especially Vince Giraldi’s stuff for the Charlie Brown one. That soundtrack, by the way, is my all time favorite Christmas CD.
But this year, it seems like every other song is either “Jingle Bell Rock” or that Bruce Springsteen version of “Santa Clause is Coming to Town”. I’ve always hated the Springsteen thing and other similar versions but I didn’t loathe “Jingle Bell Rock” until this year. I’ve probably heard it twenty or thirty times just this season.
It also seems like this song is big this year and this is another one that makes me cringe.
But all is not lost, I’ve heard this schlock-heap only once this year.
Life is good.
I’ve been in the continual presence of Christmas songs on the radio now since Thanksgiving. I like a lot of them… almost all of which are from the 50’s (“Baby, It’s Cold Outside”, “Santa Baby”, “White Christmas”, etc.) or Christmas shows I grew up with especially Vince Giraldi’s stuff for the Charlie Brown one. That soundtrack, by the way, is my all time favorite Christmas CD.
But this year, it seems like every other song is either “Jingle Bell Rock” or that Bruce Springsteen version of “Santa Clause is Coming to Town”. I’ve always hated the Springsteen thing and other similar versions but I didn’t loathe “Jingle Bell Rock” until this year. I’ve probably heard it twenty or thirty times just this season.
It also seems like this song is big this year and this is another one that makes me cringe.
But all is not lost, I’ve heard this schlock-heap only once this year.
Life is good.
Friday, December 22, 2006
Countdown
Havin’ the traditional Noel thing up here… last night while Uncle Mike (or Mr. Christmas as I’ve taken to calling him because of his “fervor” for all things Santine) puttered with the lights for the tree, Liam played with a Lego train, Erin hung ornaments, and everyone else bounced the new grandson on their knee… all bathed in the glow of Rudolf’s nose on the TV… I sipped Egg Nog with a generous helping of Jack Daniels, just taking in all the Christmassy goodness.
Today, just before the milling chaos of Friday night and the final weekend leading up to December 25th, I hit the mall to do my shopping. Because Kerry does all of it, I only had to get two gifts… one for Kerry from myself and the other for Kerry from Erin. Erin and I ran into two places and I was done in less than 40 minutes. Schweet.
However, there is one thing glaringly absent from Xmas 06. Snow! Apparently, New York is having a holiday heat wave. I swear, I was even looking forward to shoveling the driveway not to mention snowmen, tentative igloos, snowball fights and all the stuff I never really had as a kid growing up mostly in the Sunbelt. There were some flurries the 2nd day we were up here which was kind of cool as I was jogging in them. Cool for the novelty but not exactly safe as the roads around here are rife with dumptrucks and schoolbuses. But still cool… although I’ve jogged in Fargo, Green Bay, and St. John’s, I’ve never run during a snowfall
Today, just before the milling chaos of Friday night and the final weekend leading up to December 25th, I hit the mall to do my shopping. Because Kerry does all of it, I only had to get two gifts… one for Kerry from myself and the other for Kerry from Erin. Erin and I ran into two places and I was done in less than 40 minutes. Schweet.
However, there is one thing glaringly absent from Xmas 06. Snow! Apparently, New York is having a holiday heat wave. I swear, I was even looking forward to shoveling the driveway not to mention snowmen, tentative igloos, snowball fights and all the stuff I never really had as a kid growing up mostly in the Sunbelt. There were some flurries the 2nd day we were up here which was kind of cool as I was jogging in them. Cool for the novelty but not exactly safe as the roads around here are rife with dumptrucks and schoolbuses. But still cool… although I’ve jogged in Fargo, Green Bay, and St. John’s, I’ve never run during a snowfall
Monday, December 18, 2006
Drinking Problem
I was back at the bag plant in Louisiana last week. The morning before going in I awoke early and couldn’t get back to sleep so I decided to try out the “Fitness Room” of the Holiday Inn I was at. However, I required coffee first.
Usually I never touch the coffeemakers in the room preferring the coffee in the lobby instead since I can get real half & half instead of that fiberglass non-dairy creamer stuff, but it was 4:30 am. But I had no water to make it with. Typically I’m fine with tap water and even if it’s a little funny I make do but the stuff in this place was rank. If it was a little chemical-tasting or bleachy or something, I’d probably shrug my shoulders and drink it figuring it can’t be deadly or there’d be all kinds of lawsuits but this was a little brownish AND smelled like a sewer so amscray on the aptay.
So I headed on down to the lobby hoping to score a free bottle of the water they give you when you walk in the joint but I am denied and cannot even buy one. The attendendant gives me twenty one’s in change and sends me to the vending machines. There, I found only Dasani with lemon or raspberry. I figured it’s water with a slight hint of lemon and get that but, no, it’s like Fresca with a cloying lemon thickness and Splenda to boot.
With no other recourse, I opted to make coffee with the materials at hand. Not a good idea.
Usually I never touch the coffeemakers in the room preferring the coffee in the lobby instead since I can get real half & half instead of that fiberglass non-dairy creamer stuff, but it was 4:30 am. But I had no water to make it with. Typically I’m fine with tap water and even if it’s a little funny I make do but the stuff in this place was rank. If it was a little chemical-tasting or bleachy or something, I’d probably shrug my shoulders and drink it figuring it can’t be deadly or there’d be all kinds of lawsuits but this was a little brownish AND smelled like a sewer so amscray on the aptay.
So I headed on down to the lobby hoping to score a free bottle of the water they give you when you walk in the joint but I am denied and cannot even buy one. The attendendant gives me twenty one’s in change and sends me to the vending machines. There, I found only Dasani with lemon or raspberry. I figured it’s water with a slight hint of lemon and get that but, no, it’s like Fresca with a cloying lemon thickness and Splenda to boot.
With no other recourse, I opted to make coffee with the materials at hand. Not a good idea.
Sunday, December 10, 2006
Tragedy on Blood Mountain
Today, Liam and I hiked with Steve (the guy I’ve been hiking with lately) and his son, one of Liam’s best friends. We went up Blood Mountain, a very steep climb that I considered a bit of a test for Liam to see if he was going to be a “hiker kid”. The presence of his friend helped a lot and if it had been longer than the 4.6 mile total, things would’ve gotten rough, but we made it and he had a good time.
After the trek to the beautiful summit, we had a little lunch. Liam finished his bag of trail mix and was munching happily on his nothing but ham and cheese sandwich (his favorite topping even the classic PB&J) when a dog came trotting into our area and quickly scooped up the scattered Cheerio’s from Steve’s son’s lunch as well as two strawberry tops. His owner entered the scene with a group and said his name was “Moochie”. I jokingly warned Liam to watch his sandwich but then suddenly the dog snapped it out of his hand… his hand that wasn’t flailing about but was almost putting the sandwich to his mouth.
The guy barely mumbled a sorry then resumed talking with his friends like nothing had happened. I consoled Liam and made comments that, if I had owned a dog that had pulled a similar stunt, I’d have wailed on it. The guy and his group started wandering off and Liam pointed, shouting “Look… they’re even giving him a treat! Like he saved someone’s life!”
And so continues my son’s growing annoyance and outright dislike for canine culture. I still like to give most hounds I meet a ruffle behind the ear or the heavy back tap but with every morning that I'm awakened by the barking dog next door and with every "yard bomb" I cleanup from the dog on the other side, I'm pretty much keeping right up with Liam.
After the trek to the beautiful summit, we had a little lunch. Liam finished his bag of trail mix and was munching happily on his nothing but ham and cheese sandwich (his favorite topping even the classic PB&J) when a dog came trotting into our area and quickly scooped up the scattered Cheerio’s from Steve’s son’s lunch as well as two strawberry tops. His owner entered the scene with a group and said his name was “Moochie”. I jokingly warned Liam to watch his sandwich but then suddenly the dog snapped it out of his hand… his hand that wasn’t flailing about but was almost putting the sandwich to his mouth.
The guy barely mumbled a sorry then resumed talking with his friends like nothing had happened. I consoled Liam and made comments that, if I had owned a dog that had pulled a similar stunt, I’d have wailed on it. The guy and his group started wandering off and Liam pointed, shouting “Look… they’re even giving him a treat! Like he saved someone’s life!”
And so continues my son’s growing annoyance and outright dislike for canine culture. I still like to give most hounds I meet a ruffle behind the ear or the heavy back tap but with every morning that I'm awakened by the barking dog next door and with every "yard bomb" I cleanup from the dog on the other side, I'm pretty much keeping right up with Liam.
Saturday, December 09, 2006
Potent Ponderable
Why is it that after a night in which I fall asleep without brushing my teeth, my mouth tastes better the next morning than if I had brushed'em?
Monday, December 04, 2006
Perturbed Cajun
Last week I was in Monroe, Louisiana. In the section of town I was in, if the wind happened to be blowing the wrong way, you might think you were standing in line for the port-a-let row at Midtown Music because of the nearby paper mill. Also, although I’m usually not overly sensitive to stuff like this, the water was a bit rank and I stuck with the bottled water that the Holiday Inn included in a goody bag. And from what I heard from a guy who stayed at another place, the Holiday Inn water was pretty good.
But the people at the plant were great… super-social, funny, and helpful. They reminded me of folks in the Wisconsin area with the accent from the movie “Fargo”… the same refreshing non-self-conscious niceness. As if it’s perfectly ok to be friendly… the nerve!
In one bizarre scene, I was trying to make a call on my department’s Blackberry and I had to go out a back door and crawl past a dumpster to get a signal. Right across a one-lane road from me, with his prize hanging from a rope slung over a tree in his front yard, was a guy methodically skinning a deer.
Also, we had lunch at a Bennigan’s. Yes… a Bennigan’s! The one that started it all… the “Smells Like Teen Spirit” of casual dining. I had thought they were all closed but it was exactly the same as I remembered… the same layout, the same stupid crap on the walls, and the entire time I was there, the same lame 80’s music. It was awesome! Too bad about the food though…
But let me tell you about the best airport lounge in the US.
First off, right away I knew I liked the airport when I got off the plane. By the time I would have been barely two gates down the concourse in Atlanta, in Monroe I was at the rental car counter. Two days later, after a crazy-hectic install at the plant, I was back at my happy little airport. Unfortunately, our plane was due to take off in 45 minutes so I would get hardly any time to eat let alone wind down and enjoy a beer.
But what’s this? Our flight is delayed for an hour? Woo hoo! I realized my cow-orker is heading into the security line and I point out to her a sign indicating there was no restroom nor water in the gate area but she would not be swayed. Our paths diverged.
Dreamily, I followed the giant COCKTAIL LOUNGE sign with a little martini logo and ascended 60’s-style steps up to a landing that was empty of people and was lined by a wall with several blank, non-descript doors. My heart sunk. I was sure the lounge was no more.
Then I saw it. The portal to Shangri-la... a giant, padded-leather door set into the wall and reeking of swank. I entered still half-expecting it to be locked or opening onto a cobwebby room full of old furniture and ripped-up boxes stuffed with files but it was exactly what a lounge should be: wood-paneled, neon sign-bedecked, and cigarette smoke-filled with a string of goofy Smirnoff bottle Xmas lights over the bar, a jukebox spilling out classic rock standards, and a matronly bartender with orange hair quaffing Jaeger shots with the abundance of regulars.
But no food.
I had worked through lunch and had had nothing but two sips of water and a coke since my bagel breakfast at 6:30am so even the chips and Slim Jims behind the bar and the potential prospect of having to actually pay for one of the tabs myself could not keep me from returning downstairs for a roast beef po’boy with gravy. It may have been my ravished state but the gravy and French fries were fantastic.
By the way, I have always thought “po’boy” applied only to a sandwich of oysters, shrimp, or some other small fried denizen of the sea but it’s actually in the same league as “submarine” and “hoagie” and indicates any longish sandwich. And while we’re on the subject of trivia, Monroe Regional Airport is the original home of Delta Airlines.
Anyway, back at the lounge, I started a tab of Amberbock drafts. Apparently, even though it’s an airport bar, it’s big with the locals. There was one girl helping out with serving even though she didn’t work there although I’m sure the pitcher of beer under the bar helped. Strangely considering, another girl that did work there came in to hang out but didn't help out.
After two beers, I was considering moseying down to the gate but the guy next to me, who was on the same flight, looked over his shoulder out the windows overlooking the airfield and laughed, “It ain’t even here yet, have another!”
Midway through my third, I implored again, pointing at the clock which showed 10 minutes until the most recently-scheduled departure time. Again he shrugged it off with a look out over the runway, explaining that half the people in the bar were waiting on the same flight and the bartender would tell us all when to clear out.
And that’s exactly how it happened.
But the people at the plant were great… super-social, funny, and helpful. They reminded me of folks in the Wisconsin area with the accent from the movie “Fargo”… the same refreshing non-self-conscious niceness. As if it’s perfectly ok to be friendly… the nerve!
In one bizarre scene, I was trying to make a call on my department’s Blackberry and I had to go out a back door and crawl past a dumpster to get a signal. Right across a one-lane road from me, with his prize hanging from a rope slung over a tree in his front yard, was a guy methodically skinning a deer.
Also, we had lunch at a Bennigan’s. Yes… a Bennigan’s! The one that started it all… the “Smells Like Teen Spirit” of casual dining. I had thought they were all closed but it was exactly the same as I remembered… the same layout, the same stupid crap on the walls, and the entire time I was there, the same lame 80’s music. It was awesome! Too bad about the food though…
But let me tell you about the best airport lounge in the US.
First off, right away I knew I liked the airport when I got off the plane. By the time I would have been barely two gates down the concourse in Atlanta, in Monroe I was at the rental car counter. Two days later, after a crazy-hectic install at the plant, I was back at my happy little airport. Unfortunately, our plane was due to take off in 45 minutes so I would get hardly any time to eat let alone wind down and enjoy a beer.
But what’s this? Our flight is delayed for an hour? Woo hoo! I realized my cow-orker is heading into the security line and I point out to her a sign indicating there was no restroom nor water in the gate area but she would not be swayed. Our paths diverged.
Dreamily, I followed the giant COCKTAIL LOUNGE sign with a little martini logo and ascended 60’s-style steps up to a landing that was empty of people and was lined by a wall with several blank, non-descript doors. My heart sunk. I was sure the lounge was no more.
Then I saw it. The portal to Shangri-la... a giant, padded-leather door set into the wall and reeking of swank. I entered still half-expecting it to be locked or opening onto a cobwebby room full of old furniture and ripped-up boxes stuffed with files but it was exactly what a lounge should be: wood-paneled, neon sign-bedecked, and cigarette smoke-filled with a string of goofy Smirnoff bottle Xmas lights over the bar, a jukebox spilling out classic rock standards, and a matronly bartender with orange hair quaffing Jaeger shots with the abundance of regulars.
But no food.
I had worked through lunch and had had nothing but two sips of water and a coke since my bagel breakfast at 6:30am so even the chips and Slim Jims behind the bar and the potential prospect of having to actually pay for one of the tabs myself could not keep me from returning downstairs for a roast beef po’boy with gravy. It may have been my ravished state but the gravy and French fries were fantastic.
By the way, I have always thought “po’boy” applied only to a sandwich of oysters, shrimp, or some other small fried denizen of the sea but it’s actually in the same league as “submarine” and “hoagie” and indicates any longish sandwich. And while we’re on the subject of trivia, Monroe Regional Airport is the original home of Delta Airlines.
Anyway, back at the lounge, I started a tab of Amberbock drafts. Apparently, even though it’s an airport bar, it’s big with the locals. There was one girl helping out with serving even though she didn’t work there although I’m sure the pitcher of beer under the bar helped. Strangely considering, another girl that did work there came in to hang out but didn't help out.
After two beers, I was considering moseying down to the gate but the guy next to me, who was on the same flight, looked over his shoulder out the windows overlooking the airfield and laughed, “It ain’t even here yet, have another!”
Midway through my third, I implored again, pointing at the clock which showed 10 minutes until the most recently-scheduled departure time. Again he shrugged it off with a look out over the runway, explaining that half the people in the bar were waiting on the same flight and the bartender would tell us all when to clear out.
And that’s exactly how it happened.
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
Where art thou, Fob?
During the visit to Florida, we drove by by UCF, my alma mater in Orlando. The area along Alafaya (one of the main strips) and Oviedo (a little town to the north) has been completely changed and built up from the undeveloped fields it was 15 years ago but the section I lived in for most of my stay, the roach-infested, beer can-strewn student housing slums across from the main campus, is basically unchanged.
The old Pizza Hut has been converted to a Mexican restaurant with the classic "hut" building and the Knight's Out Pub, the staple for quarter beers, leaden burgers, and sweat-soaked forehead-inducing wings, is boarded up. Still in operation is the Subway I worked at for several years where I hated the Pub next door for it's nightly disgorging of rowdy drunks directly into said Subway one f'd-up hour before closing.
The old Pizza Hut has been converted to a Mexican restaurant with the classic "hut" building and the Knight's Out Pub, the staple for quarter beers, leaden burgers, and sweat-soaked forehead-inducing wings, is boarded up. Still in operation is the Subway I worked at for several years where I hated the Pub next door for it's nightly disgorging of rowdy drunks directly into said Subway one f'd-up hour before closing.
Monday, November 20, 2006
Fish Head Notch
Well, we're headin' down to Central Florida, lightning capital of the world. You'd think this'd liven the joint up a bit but nope... it's still Florida.I hiked 16 more miles of the AT Sunday... from Dick's Creek Gap to Unicoi Gap. Everything's a friggin' "gap" on the thing. Does it change up North? Not here in Georgia... every 40 minutes, you're in a gap.
Indian Grave Gap, Winding Stair Gap, Woody Gap... even Gooch Gap.
BO-RING!
How about "Nimrod Hollow" or "Upchuck Cleft"?
"Weaselface Vale"?
"Punchdrunk Pass"?
The Outside Scoop by Jim Harvey
Ok… I was going to write a rant deriding this inane song that I keep hearing on one of the radio stations but no matter how I write it up I’ll come across as some old out-of-touch Ward Cleaver-type… not that I have a problem with that… but, aww forget it…
Over the top, men!!!
All right, I don’t have a problem with songs about sex per se but isn’t there a regulation or torte or something requiring it to be innuendo? Or at least allowing room for another however completely untrue interpretation (ie., oh yeah, it’s about dancing)? Or I guess if it has to be directly about sex, hide it on the CD somewhere (classic example: Red Hot’s “Special Secret Song Inside”) instead of blazing it out on the radio.
And that song is a little more a celebration of sex not a misogynistic, objectifying stripjoint song like the Buckcherry thing.
Actually, I like a fair amount of the machismo-laden “I’m a bad ass” stuff… Van Halen, AC/DC, Iggy Pop, and Mudhoney all have songs with this theme… well, David Lee Roth IS that theme and Iggy actually IS a badass but you get my point.
But this Buckcherry thing is just the penultimate reason why I turned away from glam in the first place. It’s too blatantly a frat-boy rape theme but probably this is what they were going for… to piss guys like me off!
And, daggum, when Erin’s a teenager if some degenerate punk comes ‘round here playing this kind of crap, I’ll give him what fer!!
Over the top, men!!!
All right, I don’t have a problem with songs about sex per se but isn’t there a regulation or torte or something requiring it to be innuendo? Or at least allowing room for another however completely untrue interpretation (ie., oh yeah, it’s about dancing)? Or I guess if it has to be directly about sex, hide it on the CD somewhere (classic example: Red Hot’s “Special Secret Song Inside”) instead of blazing it out on the radio.
And that song is a little more a celebration of sex not a misogynistic, objectifying stripjoint song like the Buckcherry thing.
Actually, I like a fair amount of the machismo-laden “I’m a bad ass” stuff… Van Halen, AC/DC, Iggy Pop, and Mudhoney all have songs with this theme… well, David Lee Roth IS that theme and Iggy actually IS a badass but you get my point.
But this Buckcherry thing is just the penultimate reason why I turned away from glam in the first place. It’s too blatantly a frat-boy rape theme but probably this is what they were going for… to piss guys like me off!
And, daggum, when Erin’s a teenager if some degenerate punk comes ‘round here playing this kind of crap, I’ll give him what fer!!
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
It is 5 am and you are list-en-ning to Los An-geles
Kerry left for the west coast Monday morning and her dad came down to help out with the kiddies. She's cruising around on the beach in a silver Miata and I'm making sandwiches and changing the catbox. Not that anyone's complaining around here!
He's ok now but for a while, Liam was having a tough time dealing with it. He told me last night that yesterday at school he kept his jacket on all day and had the collar zipped up to below his nose so that no one could see his upside-down smile.
I told him he'll make a great poet.
He's ok now but for a while, Liam was having a tough time dealing with it. He told me last night that yesterday at school he kept his jacket on all day and had the collar zipped up to below his nose so that no one could see his upside-down smile.
I told him he'll make a great poet.
Ode to Joy
It took a week and a half more after the last exciting Gnarfigbjorn adventure until the fridge was finally fixed... crikey.
And, then last Saturday, on the way to meet a few guys in Gainesville for some mountain biking, the clutch on my 99 Honda goes out. I missed out on the biking but I didn’t miss out on standing on the side of 985 from 8-9am waiting for the tow truck and I sure as heck didn’t miss out on dropping $1200 for the repair.
And, then last Saturday, on the way to meet a few guys in Gainesville for some mountain biking, the clutch on my 99 Honda goes out. I missed out on the biking but I didn’t miss out on standing on the side of 985 from 8-9am waiting for the tow truck and I sure as heck didn’t miss out on dropping $1200 for the repair.
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
13:30 cool cave, could camp in it
Last Sunday, kind of spur of the moment, I went hiking with the husband of a friend of my wife’s. He’d been doing single-day sections of the AT and I decided to join him. Although he’s done a fair amount of hiking, he didn’t have much of an idea how long it would take or what distance was doable. And the only long-distance hiking I’d done was with a 40lb pack on my back so I had no real estimate on a maintainable pace.
Originally, his plan was to hike the AT from Amicalola Park to Woody Gap… a distance of about 28 miles. That sounded a little long to me so I found a way on the Net to get closer to the actual start of the AT on Springer Mountain. This cut off 8 miles but took a while to get to. Although we left my house at 6:20am, after dropping my car off at the start, we began the trek at Woody Gap just after 9am.
He told me a story about getting stuck up on a mountain on the AT at night without a light. He used the glow from his cell phone to make his way along the rocky trail to his car. I had no desire to end up cracking my skull after a slip in the dark so, although we both carried lights in our packs, I planned on finishing way ahead of sunset… typically pretty early in the mountains.
Now, I am ragging this guy a little for his lack of planning but, to be fair, I’m a little far out on the other end. I’m a pretty frugal packer and I’m down-to-the-basics with the stuff but on this and my last hike, I recorded my progress to an obsessive degree. At any peak, stream, forest road crossing, or even a nice tent site, I’d jot down the time on a scrap of paper in my pocket. I did this an average of every 12 and a half minutes over the course of 9 hours. Here’s a typical series:
14:02 peak, Sassafras Mt?
14:08 stop, duct
14:18 go
14:32 Horse Gap (some FS road)
14:41 steep climb to peak
14:54 parallels a forest road
15:00 peak?
At first, I was doing this so I could get a pace and estimate our finish time so I’d know whether to kick it up or not. And also, knowing where a good tent site is and where water is will help for future hikes and knowledge of the forest roads could help in the event of an emergency.
But really I’m doing it because I want to. The whole 9 hours I was never bored. Hiking through rocky terrain (and all these goddamn leaves!) is enough activity to prevent thinking deeply for any length of time so, basically, the entire time I’m loosely thinking about my pace interspersed with typical thoughts.
Turns out, we were going to be cutting it really close. The car was parked a mile before the top of Springer Mt, the start of the entire Appalachian Trail and damned if I was going to hike 19 miles without finishing the last 1.
So I left him behind about halfway along the hike. I stopped to transfer water from the big bottle in my pack to the little one in my pocket and to eat but other than my quick data-gathering stops, I trudged it at a fairly high rate the rest of the way. Oh, that “duct” mention above was putting pieces of duct tape on hotspots on my feet to prevent blisters. Sounds weird but, so far, it’s worked for me.
When I got to the car, the sun was setting but I decided to risk it and do the mile and back. There was still a decent glow, I had my headlamp, and I’d be coming back over familiar territory. It was starting to get cold so I left the car unlocked with a note with the time I left. When I got back, I was happy to see his light in the car… I had felt a little bad leaving him although he typically does solo hikes and I had kept telling him we needed to go faster if we wanted to do Springer. He was fine but I felt even worse when I discovered he had run out of water and drank out of a stream.
Then he said he usually has to do this!!
Originally, his plan was to hike the AT from Amicalola Park to Woody Gap… a distance of about 28 miles. That sounded a little long to me so I found a way on the Net to get closer to the actual start of the AT on Springer Mountain. This cut off 8 miles but took a while to get to. Although we left my house at 6:20am, after dropping my car off at the start, we began the trek at Woody Gap just after 9am.
He told me a story about getting stuck up on a mountain on the AT at night without a light. He used the glow from his cell phone to make his way along the rocky trail to his car. I had no desire to end up cracking my skull after a slip in the dark so, although we both carried lights in our packs, I planned on finishing way ahead of sunset… typically pretty early in the mountains.
Now, I am ragging this guy a little for his lack of planning but, to be fair, I’m a little far out on the other end. I’m a pretty frugal packer and I’m down-to-the-basics with the stuff but on this and my last hike, I recorded my progress to an obsessive degree. At any peak, stream, forest road crossing, or even a nice tent site, I’d jot down the time on a scrap of paper in my pocket. I did this an average of every 12 and a half minutes over the course of 9 hours. Here’s a typical series:
14:02 peak, Sassafras Mt?
14:08 stop, duct
14:18 go
14:32 Horse Gap (some FS road)
14:41 steep climb to peak
14:54 parallels a forest road
15:00 peak?
At first, I was doing this so I could get a pace and estimate our finish time so I’d know whether to kick it up or not. And also, knowing where a good tent site is and where water is will help for future hikes and knowledge of the forest roads could help in the event of an emergency.
But really I’m doing it because I want to. The whole 9 hours I was never bored. Hiking through rocky terrain (and all these goddamn leaves!) is enough activity to prevent thinking deeply for any length of time so, basically, the entire time I’m loosely thinking about my pace interspersed with typical thoughts.
Turns out, we were going to be cutting it really close. The car was parked a mile before the top of Springer Mt, the start of the entire Appalachian Trail and damned if I was going to hike 19 miles without finishing the last 1.
So I left him behind about halfway along the hike. I stopped to transfer water from the big bottle in my pack to the little one in my pocket and to eat but other than my quick data-gathering stops, I trudged it at a fairly high rate the rest of the way. Oh, that “duct” mention above was putting pieces of duct tape on hotspots on my feet to prevent blisters. Sounds weird but, so far, it’s worked for me.
When I got to the car, the sun was setting but I decided to risk it and do the mile and back. There was still a decent glow, I had my headlamp, and I’d be coming back over familiar territory. It was starting to get cold so I left the car unlocked with a note with the time I left. When I got back, I was happy to see his light in the car… I had felt a little bad leaving him although he typically does solo hikes and I had kept telling him we needed to go faster if we wanted to do Springer. He was fine but I felt even worse when I discovered he had run out of water and drank out of a stream.
Then he said he usually has to do this!!
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
The Great F'd-Up Week of Ought-6
My "achy flue" turned out to be strep throat... caught from Erin who caught it from Liam who you could barely tell had it. Man, what a week. Plus Kerry got a ticket for running a red light... couldn't see over the truck.
Calgon, take me away!!!!
But she did win a free trip to LA so that's 1 for our side.
Calgon, take me away!!!!
But she did win a free trip to LA so that's 1 for our side.
Saturday, October 28, 2006
The Icelandic Saga of Gnarfigbjorn continues....
So now I know it's the compressor, a part that is expensive to replace and not a DIY job... not even for a genius like myself! I had been assuming that I only had a 1 yr warranty but that was based on bad info. I called Sears and they said the compressor was covered but only for the parts... not the labor which could easily run $300 or more... who knows?So do we buy a new one? Although you can get some for pretty cheap, we were likely going to drop a grand for a nice albeit scratch'n'dent one. I scheduled a tech to come in... which meant 8-4 on Saturday... joy. But, par for the course this week, last night I came down with some kind of achy flue so staying home was no big loss.
The guy walked in at 3:30, looked at the model #, and said "compressor's shot". Apparently this particular model has a compressor that routinely shuts down after 3-4 years. AND I wouldn't be able to get it replaced until NEXT FRIDAY! But, guess what, it's all covered... woo hoo! The very knowledgeable guy gave me basically the entire recent history of Sears refrigerators which I will spare you although a tad unwillingly.
And, instead of living out of an ice chest like we've been doing for the past week we bored a little fridge which will be a relief. And no more APPLIANCE FORUM blogging... for a while, that is.
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
An Inconvenient Truth
Continued from Box'o Bugs...
As is typical for a Kerry-hosted party, there were cakes galore but one of the highlights specifically requested by the birthday boy himself (a strict, no nonsense event coordinator) was an ice cream cake. Unfortunately, although it had been in the freezer for hours, it was still ice cream soup. I didn’t have time to check it out but it turned out that the refrigerator was busted and the compressor wasn’t working.
Searching the Net for clues and hearing a few stories over beers with some guys pointed in the same direction: get a new one. If the compressor’s fried, it’s not worth replacing what with the refrigerant restrictions and welded connections and all.
But dammit, I had bought this fridge myself only about 5 years ago. Every other fridge I had ever lived with in the past had been handed down through the generations like a painting or an ugly lamp. And I had never seen one fail. I had lived in digusting, roach-infested student ghettos where apartments were routinely abandoned and often ransacked and yet the fridges survived. I remember walking through one place right next to the building that my own apartment was in where the patio door was shattered and the fire extinguisher had been expelled everywhere. The place had been this way for weeks and weeks and stupidly, I opened the fridge… a glimpse of a completely black/green interior caused a quick closure but the whiff was there. But I bet it would still run if the power were on!!!
So I pulled it out from the wall, lied down in the crud behind it, and pulled off the lower back panel. Being an engineer does give me the knowledge that machines aren’t magical creations and actually work by definite and logical processes but it doesn’t tell me how those processes are done by a big metal ball with copper tubing and several small buzzing plastic boxes with wires all over the place all coated in a half inch of lint.
As I posted earlier, having had a lawn mower, a washer and dryer, a CJ, an Isuzu beater of a truck, and most importantly, a lack of funds to spend on maintaining them, has taught me that having monkeyed with and lost is better than never having monkeyed with at all. Some folks, knowing that they have no idea what’s going on will understandably call for the repair guy or buy another. I, knowing that I have no idea what’s going on, will now go in both guns blazing. Poke around, blow on a few things, connect and reconnect wires, screw and unscrew… I’d say 8 times out of 10, this will fix whatever it is.
And that’s exactly what happened.
Let me point out here that typically I do seek a jog in the right direction before diving in. I don’t jump in totally blind. I’ll look at the manual, maybe talk with a handier friend, and peruse a few Internet forums on the more serious ones. But I’m not breaking out a voltmeter or measuring spark gaps or anything… mostly just un- and reconnecting. So far, it’s worked pretty well and I’ve hardly ever actually had to replace anything with this method.
So I had taken off the back of the fridge and had found out on the Net that a warm freezer but cool fridge section was likely a bad compressor. The recurring whining followed by a click and silence that I heard was probably the compressor trying but failing to start. In desperation, I hung my hopes on a “bad relay” diagnosis I had caught in my search and removed a few components trying to identify the relay.
They all seemed fine and I figured I’d be spending all the next day shopping for a new fridge and dealing with getting it installed and the old one removed. But I followed my gut and at 2am, re-installed everything and turned it on. It hummed smoothly and after an hour was still purring along and it seemed like the inside was cooling.
I slept well that morning.
Unfortunately, Kerry didn’t as Erin decided to continue the “I Hate this Cast” campaign.
D’oh!!!! And here, as I was actually writing this a few nights back, was where I heard the compressor whining and shutting off again… right at the point where I was practically gloating about my manly powers of mechanical ability.
So no fridge once again. And this after we had emptied the fridge of food, brought it to a neighbor’s, then when I thought I had fixed it, cleaned it all out and re-populated it with the grub. Faaaantastic.
As is typical for a Kerry-hosted party, there were cakes galore but one of the highlights specifically requested by the birthday boy himself (a strict, no nonsense event coordinator) was an ice cream cake. Unfortunately, although it had been in the freezer for hours, it was still ice cream soup. I didn’t have time to check it out but it turned out that the refrigerator was busted and the compressor wasn’t working.
Searching the Net for clues and hearing a few stories over beers with some guys pointed in the same direction: get a new one. If the compressor’s fried, it’s not worth replacing what with the refrigerant restrictions and welded connections and all.
But dammit, I had bought this fridge myself only about 5 years ago. Every other fridge I had ever lived with in the past had been handed down through the generations like a painting or an ugly lamp. And I had never seen one fail. I had lived in digusting, roach-infested student ghettos where apartments were routinely abandoned and often ransacked and yet the fridges survived. I remember walking through one place right next to the building that my own apartment was in where the patio door was shattered and the fire extinguisher had been expelled everywhere. The place had been this way for weeks and weeks and stupidly, I opened the fridge… a glimpse of a completely black/green interior caused a quick closure but the whiff was there. But I bet it would still run if the power were on!!!
So I pulled it out from the wall, lied down in the crud behind it, and pulled off the lower back panel. Being an engineer does give me the knowledge that machines aren’t magical creations and actually work by definite and logical processes but it doesn’t tell me how those processes are done by a big metal ball with copper tubing and several small buzzing plastic boxes with wires all over the place all coated in a half inch of lint.
As I posted earlier, having had a lawn mower, a washer and dryer, a CJ, an Isuzu beater of a truck, and most importantly, a lack of funds to spend on maintaining them, has taught me that having monkeyed with and lost is better than never having monkeyed with at all. Some folks, knowing that they have no idea what’s going on will understandably call for the repair guy or buy another. I, knowing that I have no idea what’s going on, will now go in both guns blazing. Poke around, blow on a few things, connect and reconnect wires, screw and unscrew… I’d say 8 times out of 10, this will fix whatever it is.
And that’s exactly what happened.
Let me point out here that typically I do seek a jog in the right direction before diving in. I don’t jump in totally blind. I’ll look at the manual, maybe talk with a handier friend, and peruse a few Internet forums on the more serious ones. But I’m not breaking out a voltmeter or measuring spark gaps or anything… mostly just un- and reconnecting. So far, it’s worked pretty well and I’ve hardly ever actually had to replace anything with this method.
So I had taken off the back of the fridge and had found out on the Net that a warm freezer but cool fridge section was likely a bad compressor. The recurring whining followed by a click and silence that I heard was probably the compressor trying but failing to start. In desperation, I hung my hopes on a “bad relay” diagnosis I had caught in my search and removed a few components trying to identify the relay.
They all seemed fine and I figured I’d be spending all the next day shopping for a new fridge and dealing with getting it installed and the old one removed. But I followed my gut and at 2am, re-installed everything and turned it on. It hummed smoothly and after an hour was still purring along and it seemed like the inside was cooling.
I slept well that morning.
Unfortunately, Kerry didn’t as Erin decided to continue the “I Hate this Cast” campaign.
D’oh!!!! And here, as I was actually writing this a few nights back, was where I heard the compressor whining and shutting off again… right at the point where I was practically gloating about my manly powers of mechanical ability.
So no fridge once again. And this after we had emptied the fridge of food, brought it to a neighbor’s, then when I thought I had fixed it, cleaned it all out and re-populated it with the grub. Faaaantastic.
Monday, October 23, 2006
Sunday, October 22, 2006
Box o' Bugs
A rather hectic 3-day weekend so far.
Thursday afternoon. It’s near the end of the fiscal year so I’ve got to get my orders shipped which makes it all the more tough when my boss signs me up for a 3-day training class… there’s no one else doing my job when I’m gone. So this means late nights and when I get home it’s rush-rush trying to prep for Liam’s Halloween birthday party.
During a meeting at work, the office administrator interrupts and asks me to step outside. Kerry’s been trying to reach me. I call her up. Erin’s fallen down some stairs and likely broken her arm.
Turns out she’s broken it in three places and now has a cast… she picked blue which surprises me given her and every single other 3-year old girl’s predilection for pink. Kerry was with her at the hospital for a draining 7 hours while they looked her over. For a bit, surgery was discussed which did wonders for our nerves but it turned out not to be necessary.
She spent the first night here at home waking up every few hours yelling about how she wanted it off. This breaks your heart coming from a 3-yr old little girl but it’s a lot better than “It hurts!”. Her anger and legendary stubbornness I can take but I’m glad I haven’t yet had to deal with her pain.
Friday was the day of Liam’s shindig. He’d been planning this for months. We had had a big party for his 5th so we weren’t planning on anything huge for his 6th but he kept building it up. At first he wanted a “trick party” in which various shenanigans would be played on the kids… the piñata would be filled with jello, the cake would be loaded up with salt and pickles, you know...fun stuff like that.
But as Halloween rolled around, it evolved into a haunted house theme. We put up a graveyard in the front yard and set up a haunted house in the garage complete with “m.f. snakes in the attic”, me lamely dressed up as a mad scientist, and one of those kiddie rows of boxes with holes in them where you poke your hand in and feel eyeballs (peeled grapes), dead bugs (packaging peanuts), worms (spaghetti), or a brain (a head of cauliflower dripping in vegetable oil).
She had spent most of the day resting in bed watching Dora and Backyardigans but, never being one to be left out of anything, Erin joined in the fun a little but was very low key compared to the usual fireball. Liam had a good time especially when he and all the other kids were chasing the mad scientist with squirtguns through the graveyard.
And then... with Kerry's coup de gras ice cream cake inside, the fridge decided to crap out.
Thursday afternoon. It’s near the end of the fiscal year so I’ve got to get my orders shipped which makes it all the more tough when my boss signs me up for a 3-day training class… there’s no one else doing my job when I’m gone. So this means late nights and when I get home it’s rush-rush trying to prep for Liam’s Halloween birthday party.
During a meeting at work, the office administrator interrupts and asks me to step outside. Kerry’s been trying to reach me. I call her up. Erin’s fallen down some stairs and likely broken her arm.
Turns out she’s broken it in three places and now has a cast… she picked blue which surprises me given her and every single other 3-year old girl’s predilection for pink. Kerry was with her at the hospital for a draining 7 hours while they looked her over. For a bit, surgery was discussed which did wonders for our nerves but it turned out not to be necessary.
She spent the first night here at home waking up every few hours yelling about how she wanted it off. This breaks your heart coming from a 3-yr old little girl but it’s a lot better than “It hurts!”. Her anger and legendary stubbornness I can take but I’m glad I haven’t yet had to deal with her pain.
Friday was the day of Liam’s shindig. He’d been planning this for months. We had had a big party for his 5th so we weren’t planning on anything huge for his 6th but he kept building it up. At first he wanted a “trick party” in which various shenanigans would be played on the kids… the piñata would be filled with jello, the cake would be loaded up with salt and pickles, you know...fun stuff like that.
But as Halloween rolled around, it evolved into a haunted house theme. We put up a graveyard in the front yard and set up a haunted house in the garage complete with “m.f. snakes in the attic”, me lamely dressed up as a mad scientist, and one of those kiddie rows of boxes with holes in them where you poke your hand in and feel eyeballs (peeled grapes), dead bugs (packaging peanuts), worms (spaghetti), or a brain (a head of cauliflower dripping in vegetable oil).
She had spent most of the day resting in bed watching Dora and Backyardigans but, never being one to be left out of anything, Erin joined in the fun a little but was very low key compared to the usual fireball. Liam had a good time especially when he and all the other kids were chasing the mad scientist with squirtguns through the graveyard.
And then... with Kerry's coup de gras ice cream cake inside, the fridge decided to crap out.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)